The 14th Hunger Games
by Flightwing98
Summary: This is just a small short story I made of the girl tribute of District 12 in the 14th Hunger Games as she struggles with why she's there and if she can let herself win. I hope you enjoy it!
1. Chapter 1

The 14th Hunger Games

It seemed like a lifetime ago: the days going by, hiding in fear if death would be around the corner; the slightest snap of a twig jerking you from a long-needed sleep; the pains and aches of hunger ripping your stomach to shreds; thirst driving you mad. I was nowhere near prepared for the struggles that just trying to live brought every which way. But of course, this way of survival is different than being off, alone, far from the 12 Districts that surround the Capital. This is the Hunger Games, where everything that you see happening is real and its soul purpose is to watch you kill or be killed.

Fourteen years ago District 13 started a riot on the Capital. When they lost and were demolished from existence, the Hunger Games began, stealing two kids between the ages of 12 and 18 from their families, from their Districts, and into the Capital's clutches. Oh, how those rich people must enjoy this, watching 24 teenagers die at their hands? Now, the same age as the Hunger Games, I'm sitting here in the Capital's clutches, forced to kill in a sick game with sick people who are actually trying to win.

I don't think I'd ever try to win the Hunger Games, not even for the fame and fortune the victor receives. In my District, District 12, the prize money could be enough to keep my family of four full and healthy for years! Is it worth it? Killing the children of other families and in return becoming extremely wealthy? It's a burden the other victors have either struggled with or didn't bother worrying about for thirteen years. I can't put myself through that, not even for the money. I'd be a name in eleven other Districts scorned upon and used as insults, my blood being called by the families whose children I helped slaughter. I shake my head. I can't live like that for the rest of my life. I'd regret it forever! But Nix, the boy from my District, said that I could make it, that I could win, and I promised I would try. There are only seven of us left now.

The thought of Nix takes me back in time not even a full day ago. He wasn't supposed to die, at least not right before my eyes, and the fight was gruesome.

Nix and I had been separated and were trying to find each other when he attacked me. The boy from 7, Skrete I think his name was, jumped out of a tree and the wind was knocked out of me instantly. He had at least 80 more pounds on me and I could barely get in a breath when his hands were at my throat. The panic of not being able to breathe is torturous. His hands were so large and so strong that I was merely flailing about like a fish out of water, unable to loosen his grip.

Darkness crept at the corners of my eyes and I felt death coming when his weight and hands were gone. I choked and gasped and it took a large amount of effort just to allow my eyes to focus again. What I saw next was hazed, but I knew it was Nix who had saved my life. He and the boy from 7 were in intense combat, Nix using a large stick and Skrete using a dagger. For a moment, Nix's greater size seemed to win the battle easily, shoving Skrete aside and blocking his clumsy attacks. But Skrete launched a lightning-quick jab that ended with Nix flat on his back, the dagger sticking out of his chest.

Skrete was dead before he could've even smirked. I regained my feet and stabbed my own small knife into the back of his head so swiftly I felt light-headed. The boy tribute from District 7 fell at my feet, his blood pooling out of his wound so fatal that his cannon fired almost immediately after. It took me a second to realize that I had made my first kill. I had watched so many tributes' faces shine in the sky at night, sad that they had to die, but thankful that it wasn't me who killed them. Now, one of those tribute's blood is on my hands and never to wash away from my mind. What will his family back home think of me? They will call for vengeance, no doubt, maybe even work up enough money to pay the Capital for some dramatic scene that will end my life with some sort of suffering.

But I didn't care about my end right then; I cared about Nix and that his end was coming so quickly. The dagger went straight into his heart, with nothing my healing power could do to help it, but I had to do something! I couldn't bring myself to just watch him die, but Nix was at death's door, hanging on to his last moments telling me over and over that I could win. All I could do was nod, tears streaming down my cheeks, and promise that I would try.

Then, out of the blue, Nix took my hand in his and looked me straight in the eye. The green depths of his were fading, his skin turning white from loss of blood; it was almost over. He took a deep breath, and whispered these words: "I think I love you, Mesty…these Games can't end everything." Then his eyes closed and his cannon fired.

Thinking to that time makes my heart ache. I wish and wish so often that I could've said something back to him. Maybe tell him I loved him too, but I knew I didn't. I had never loved Nix, not like that. When he died, I was only crying because I had lost the only person I could trust, the only friend in the sea of enemies seeking my death. Nix kept me safe and watched my back. We stuck together throughout these two or so weeks in the arena and I knew the Capital didn't like it. They once forced us to a dense jungle with a horde of ravenous creatures on our tails; they launched massive half bird, half lizard mutants to swoop down and carry us away. One had grabbed me and dumped me in an open plain that stretched in every direction for miles; it took me days to find Nix again, stranded by a large river with so little food.

I want so badly to show the Capital that I am not just a piece in their Games, that this television show those rich people call entertaining is not who I am. I'm a healer. I work with leaves and ointments, not spears and knives. But how can I?


	2. Chapter 2

A sharp howl suddenly spits the silence and breaks into my thoughts. It's not the howl of a wolf I hear often back in District 12, but the howl of something forged and created in Capital laboratories. It's high-pitched and shrill, and it's nearby. I throw my green backpack over my shoulder and stand up in the tree. The tree is a large willow so I'm kind of concealed behind the foliage, but if it's some kind of mutant wolf-like creature, then it'll be able to smell me.

The howl sounds again and this time it's much closer than I would ever like. I'm scared, I'll admit, but I can't be seen as a coward to the audience at the Capital. They'd call me weak and might want me dead so the real Games can begin. Maybe that'll be better, though, and then I won't have to worry about running into more tributes that I might have to kill. No! I can't give up, not when I promised Nix I'd try to win.

I gather my wits and climb down the willow as quickly and quietly as I can. When my feet touch the ground I look around in all directions, but I don't see any mutant. I get out my knife, purely clean of Skrete's blood, and take a few steps away from the tree. The moment I'm revealed from the fronds it comes out from behind a bush. It's as large as a bear with thick brown fur, but its ears are large and pointed and its muzzle and tail are too long. It pads toward me on all fours, but when it's a tree-length away it stands on its hind paws.

I back away and hold out my knife. The bear-dog simply watches me; its black eyes are blank as if it's not sure whether I'm friend or foe. I make up its mind when I swipe my knife in its direction. It lets out another howl and I'm thrown back by its awful sound. The howl must be generated to hurt the ears of humans for my ears are pounding out of my head! I grab my ears, but instantly regret it as pain slices across my back. The bear-dog stops howling and I'm able to regain my feet before it comes at me again. I avoid it just in time and jab my knife into its leg, the blood skirting in my face. My back feels like it's on fire, but there's no time worry about anything until this mutant is far away from me.

The bear-dog gets down on all fours again and charges toward me. Instinct tells me to flee, but I can't flee or I might run into another tribute or another mutant. Instead I slash my knife at its face, cutting its rubbery nose, and shout with all my might at it. The bear-dog doesn't take this kindly and smacks me away with one massive paw. I'm thrown back several feet and I land awkwardly on my arm. Pain shoots through it right away and I know it's broken, but I pretend I'm fine; I'm sure the rich people are loving this.

Thankfully, it's my left arm that's broken, so I'm still able to somewhat defend myself, but for how long? I grit my teeth, I'm hurting everywhere and I'm trying so hard not to cry. The bear-dog lumbers closer and as fast as I can I size it up. There has to be a weakness somewhere, but it's a mutant created by the Capital. Could they be so meticulous that they made sure it was indestructible? No, then it wouldn't be fair; besides if it was indestructible then everyone watching in the Districts would that see I couldn't have killed it and then thing's would get out of hand for the Gamemakers.

The mutant comes at me again, its teeth bared and drool falling from its mouth. When its claws head toward my face, I dodge aside and score my knife down its foreleg. The bear-dog howls again, its sound penetrating my ears. It's so hard to ignore, but while it's distracted, I hack my knife into the creature's back. I'm latched on and swing my legs over. This angers the beast and rears up so high and so fast I'm flown off.

I get up, more pain flaming in my chest, and clench my knife. The bear-dog lands on all fours and turns its black eyes on me, hatred burning in their depths. I'm now terrified because I see no way of killing this beast and me staying alive. Maybe I should just give up, let this monster take me, but I bet it's programmed to injure me to the point where I can't be helped, but I'll suffer long and painfully. I look down at my knife and consider taking my own life, so the Capital can't claim my death as their own.

"No," I say aloud. Suddenly, using my voice and hearing it with my ears makes me feel better, like something has come back to me. I realize that I haven't spoken since Nix died. I stand up straight, even though it brings pain to my body, and speak, "You can't have me, mutant! Not this time!" My hand tightens around my knife so my knuckles turn white and I ready myself for the bear-dog to come at me again.

I will try to win the Hunger Games, like I promised Nix, but I will not kill anymore. One death from my hands is already too much to abide. The bear-dog pulls back its teeth and I swear it's smiling at me, happy for some fresh blood to spill. Terror courses through my veins, making my heart pound, but my mind is calm. I will kill this creature and let the seven other tributes deal with themselves. I will face anything the Capital throws at me, but I will run from any other human. Not because I'm a coward, but because I can't stand the thought of watching another kid die at my hands. I will most likely die, but I don't care now; I'm too angry at the Capital and this beast to care about anything. I face the bear-dog with all the strength I hold within me and possibly for the first time ever, the Hunger Games have a victim who doesn't mind dying…


End file.
